


It’s Okay

by ship_to_wreck



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, canon divergence - post luke cage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ship_to_wreck/pseuds/ship_to_wreck
Summary: "She stops. And stares. From across the street where nobody can see her because hiding is one of the very few things she's fucking good at. And so is Luke,  and it's surprising that she's even found him again after... After. Not that she had been looking. She's sure she's one of the people he’s been hiding from."***Or, four times Jess sees Luke again after everything that happened between them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Am I the only one who's still crying over these two? (I probably am but oh, well)
> 
> I wrote this drabble a while ago, and I wasn't really going to post it, but I found it on my phone the other day and I was like 'Maybe I should post this thing' so here it is. Post Luke Cage, canon divergent, naturally. Jessica’s pov. Kinda sad, but I live for the pain. It's my first jessluke fic, by the way, and it's really just Jess dealing with... stuff, but I hope you guys like it :)

 

 **i**.

 

  

It doesn't really surprise her the first time she sees them together.  
  
It's a cold night and it's too dark outside and her frozen fingers fight to uncap the bottle she holds a little too tight but not hard enough to break. She's in an unfamiliar place and she has no idea how she got here but she figures it's her crap ass luck when she identifies the shadows coming out of a convenience store.  
  
She sees him first because her brain has never been nice to her and it's surely not about to start now, so she immediately recognizes the shape of his shoulders, and the way he walks, and how good he looks in a coat. It dawns on her soon enough that he's smiling widely at someone and then her brain focuses on the second shadow.  
  
Then she stops. And stares. From across the street where nobody can see her because hiding is one of the very few things she's fucking good at.  
  
And so is Luke,  and it's surprising that she's even found him again after...  _After_. Not that she had been looking. She's sure she's one of the people he’s been hiding from. She doesn't blame him. She, too, would hide from herself if she could.  
  
But she _can't_. So she stands there and her hands tremble as she lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a sip. She can't even bring herself to feel jealous. She doesn't have the right to. She doesn't _want_ to.  
  
Claire and Luke are the same. And people like them should not get involved with people like her. Ever. People who break and people who fix are opposites. She cannot keep taking from them. She cannot expect them to let her.  
  
She watches until they turn around the corner and disappear into the shadows. Then she nods to the darkness, takes another gulp of her drink, and tells herself to never come here again.

 

 

* * *

                 

 **ii**.

 

 

The second time she sees them it _hurts_.  
  
Maybe because it's been two months since the first time and her own relationship with him had lasted just a little longer than that. And Jessica is not stupid—she knows what that means. Claire is not the type of woman who wants to be a booty call and Luke is willing to respect that and is lonely enough to want something that isn't just physical.  
  
She knows because she had been there, done that.  
  
(Still does, sometimes, late into the night when she thinks of him and tortures herself with 'what ifs' and feels her skin crawl and her stomach twist until the repressed emotions and the shame nearly set her to retching. Then she picks herself up, hides the cracks in her skin behind one too many bottles of whiskey, and restarts. One day, she'll get used to it.)  
  
Now, for just one second, she feels like she can't breathe and she can't bring herself to remember the last time she had felt this much pain. ( _Luke lying in a hospital bed, unconscious, as people tried to go through his skin, and she thought that the worst part was that he_ wasn't _indestructible. Not to her. She had yet to find something that wouldn't break under her touch_ ). It's not an unfamiliar feeling, it's just... Too much.  
  
And it's _wrong_.  
  
His feelings don't belong to her, she has no claim to them. And the searing pain in her chest is nothing compared to what she did to him. So she decides she’ll live with it. She'll take that one sore spot in her chest and beat it up until it's numb. And she'll let him go. And she'll let him live.  
  
He's not the first person she’s had to say goodbye to. He surely won't be the last. Life sucks, people are assholes, shit happens. Whatever. You get used to it, you keep on living. And keeping on living is a skill she’s learned to master.

(She's training herself to be to be just as good at forgetting.)

 

* * *

**iii**.

 

 

She misses him sometimes.  
  
She misses his hands on her body and his lips on hers and his warmth against her skin. She misses his voice, and the shape of his eyebrows, and how his shoulders shook with silent laughter. She misses wrapping her legs around his hips, digging her nails into his skin, and fucking him until it hurt, sweating out confessions she was too coward and too ashamed to admit. She misses the feeling in her stomach the first time he had made her feel like things could be okay.

She misses him a lot, and pretends she doesn't, and then she misses him some more.

The memories leave an odd taste on her tongue that a bottle of whiskey can't wash out, so she drinks another one and another until she's fallen into a dreamless slumber. But the thing about reality is that it's still there the next morning.  
  
But for once her fucked up reality only belongs to her, and not to anyone else, so she thinks _good_. Leave everyone out of her shit.

(She stops counting the days that have passed since the last time she saw him. Stops holding onto shit. Stops being a creep about the whole thing. It’s progress.)

(She stops noticing that it still hurts.)

 

 

* * *

 

 **iv**.

  
  
  
  
When she sees him again it's because a man in a spandex suit that is redder than all the blood Jessica has on her hands, thinks they can save New York. It's a stupid belief and it's an even more stupid suit and she thinks the whole thing will go to shit but she sees the look of determination on Luke's face and she grits her teeth and clenches her jaw and stays.  
  
There's this dull ache between her ribs whenever her eyes meet his and every word they say to each other taste like a goodbye they never had the chance to say.  
  
But Jessica is glad. Relieved, even. It's easier to forget people that were never meant to be yours.  
  
(She keeps some good memories for when she needs to feel some warmth in her sharp bones. For when her rough skin needs to remember what it feels like to be touched so tenderly. That’s a mistake she can live with. Nobody can take that away from her.)  
  
She stays away. She lets him go. And she thinks to herself one morning, as she lies in her empty bed with the ghost of him beside her, that that's the best thing she's ever done for him. That's the best thing she's ever done for anyone.

And she's never been altruist whatsoever, but she still believes that letting him go is the most heroic thing she's ever attempted to do. So there’s something she doesn't have to be ashamed of.

 _I would have liked that future._  
  
But he's happy, now. She likes this future better.

( _Screw you, brain._ )

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know what you thought by either leaving a comment or hitting kudos (or both) :D (Btw, I'd like to apologize for any typos/mistakes but none of my friends ship these two so I couldn't count on them to revise this for me *cries* also english isn't my first language).
> 
> Thanks for reading xx


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